


Cellphormers: Overlord & Trephon

by AsYouCommand (OminousHummingObelisk)



Series: Kibble & Bits & Bits & Bits [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Cellphormers, Erotic Machine Maintenance, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation/Degradation, Kidnapping, Lima Syndrome, Literal objectification, Maintenance on Living Machinery, Masturbation, Memory Deletion, Mention Of Genocide, Mention of Casual Murder, Neglect, Object-Owner Relationship, Oral Sex, Other, Overlord being Overlord, Person Being Used as a Vibrator, Sapient Object, Size Difference, Slavery, Starvation, Sticky Interface Arrays, Stockholm Syndrome, Transformation Denial, Truly Awful Cellphone Ownership, Unbirthing/Valve Spelunking?, Unhealthy Obsession, dubcon, mental reprogramming, rape/noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 19:41:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11387046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OminousHummingObelisk/pseuds/AsYouCommand
Summary: In which Trephon, a valuable cellphone used for mnemosurgical research, is casually swiped from the Institute by one of the worst cellphone users in the galaxy.





	Cellphormers: Overlord & Trephon

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from a thread that has since been deleted; identities have been vagued out in case those involved would rather not be associated with this, but I can restore the details if contacted.
>
>>   
> (Person A): (Would Trepan be Overlord's cute little phone-former too? ;3c) What about those cordless phone charger thing? Where you just put the phone on the pad and it charges? Tarn getting one and taping Pharma down to it. Poor little phone doesn't understand why it feels so good with nothing in his port :3ccc
>> 
>> (Person B): (of course~ phone trepan would be so smol in overlord’s huge hands. sometimes he accidentally drops him. and sometimes on purpose) and kddgjjdgk yesssss *w* pharma isn’t strong enough to plug the usb cable into his own port, so he’s really happy with this new wireless charger because sometimes when tarn is recharging, pharma will climb up onto it so he can overload as much as he wants before tarn wakes up

OOOOMG, the Sad Saga of Overlord’s Cellphone(s). Rarely were disposable-class mecha quite as disposable as they were around Overlord. Before the war, he always had replacement insurance on his living phones because they tended to get spectacularly destroyed so quickly. During the war, he tended to keep a stash of kidnapped cellphormers (Bot, Con, never mattered to him) who could be forcibly reprogrammed by SIM card insertion each time his current phone met a disgusting end. Phones were never people to Overlord, until…

Unlike the vast majority of disposable-class mecha before the war, Trephon became a respected scientist and researcher, though his employment at the Institute meant that most people had never heard of him. He had specialized onboard jacks that let him use his cellphone tech on living brain modules, allowing him to connect to and alter memories and personalities while plugged in to a full-sized mech. His coworkers appreciated his genius and only used his phone functions to store and access important documents, manage shadowplay databases, calculate stats… Trephon was firmly at the peak of the Functionist cellphormer class. 

While flying in to break Soundwave out of the Institute, Overlord’s phone slipped out from behind a plate of armor and fell a thousand feet to its welcome death. Overlord conveniently found a replacement lying on a counter and swiped it during the rescue; only later did he learn that he’d kidnapped the only genius mnemosurgical cellphone in their species. Trephon was certain of his own worth and expected to be exchanged for ransom, but he was just as disposable as other cellphormers in the end. 

Trephon was far more willful than most phones and was always plotting to escape, sabotage plans, and generally refuse commands, so Overlord took him to a back-alley medic to have controls installed so that his owner could override his t-cog, vocalizer, network connection, and other functions at will. He’d often lock Trephon in brick form, immobile in altmode and unable to use any of his functions, slowly draining his battery until he passed out. It was always shameful to surge back online with a charging-cable-induced overload after being starved into a coma. 

Overlord was interested only in Trephon’s mnemosurgery research, so he forcibly erased everything on the phone that didn’t relate to it. Trephon finally experienced for himself the horror of having memory and function casually destroyed in order to reshape him according to another’s desires. His life history, past relationships, other talents and skills - Overlord let him watch while he (established by SIM card implantation as Trephon’s new user/owner) deleted them all to make space on the phone’s HD. Trephon’s personality and defiance remained, too subtle to be deleted, but he could no longer remember why he was who he was. 

Overlord had lots of important things that he needed that cellphone space for. Social media, but the sort that accessed the worst places on the Net. Downloading terabytes of snuff porn, rape vids, and torture how-to films (and uploading plenty of the same), storing everything on Trephon’s HD. Keeping long, organized lists of people to kill and how exactly to kill them, plus fond records of previous notable kills. Taking tens of thousands of mid-atrocity selfies and videos, plus other pics of in-progress horrors. Hundreds of ebooks, mostly a blend of weapon manuals and low-quality torture porn novels. An enormous database of Megatron-related media - old gladiator vids, speech recordings, pictures, frame specifications, poetry, even uploaded memories from Overlord’s POV of Megatron punching him into unconsciousness - which Overlord could pore over singlemindedly for hours. 

Overlord had no use for Trephon’s root mode and kept him trapped and helpless as a phone, preventing him from speaking or comming for help. His sophistication and academic detachment eroded over years of being immersed in a constant stream of horror and degradation. Convinced that Overlord would drive him insane simply for the pleasure of bringing down a brilliant Functionist scientist and reducing him to a tool stuffed with filth, Trephon began to make himself indispensible by offering to teach Overlord about the mnemosurgery documents still stored on his HD. 

Even after Overlord realized that he needed Trephon as more than just a media consumption device, he remained an extremely brutal user. The most heavily armored, military-grade phone cases could barely survive the Phase Sixer lifestyle. Trephon got dropped from high atmosphere, fell out of armor compartments in the middle of pitched battles, was sometimes used as a thrown weapon, took shrapnel from nukes and glancing blaster shots, was dropped over and over into mutilated bodies that Overlord was trying to film/photograph, got hurled against walls when Overlord got angry after staring at his Megatron collection for too long, slid into oil baths while Overlord sported with expensive buymecha who wouldn’t survive the night, got eaten by organic wildlife and made it all the way to the other end before Overlord realized he’d been lost, and suffered countless other traumas that a mech locked in inanimate phone-mode should never have to survive. 

And Trephon barely survived, over and over, but where before Overlord would have just thrown out his phone and gotten a new one, he took care to fix his unwilling companion. Using tiny specialized tools, he’d pry Trephon out of his latest destroyed case, take off his plating, and tap out all the dents and creases. He covered Trephon’s cracked screen with increasing layers of cyber-packing tape (and neither knew how the screen continued to work despite all that) until, a century later, he found someone who could replace the glassteel. Eventually, he started Frankensteining his own cases out of salvaged warframe armor and shock-absorbing padding. He cleaned and replaced tiny cellphormer components that were damaged in battle, and the care that he offered during maintenance contrasted so greatly with his hard use at other times that Trephon couldn’t help but feel a sick relief and affection whenever Overlord repaired him. Those huge, murdering hands, gently handling his internals, wiping down his brain module and mech-organs, reassembling what they had taken apart… At those times, he felt supported in his helplessness, wanted, valued, as safe as he could be with such an owner. He took care to only teach small portions of mnemosurgery at a time, stretching his lessons out over decades; he told himself that he feared abandonment and death, but eventually he found himself simply wanting more opportunities to be cradled in Overlord’s hands, giving himself over to the planet-killer’s care. He felt that surely he must be the only one who could have Overlord like this, without any violence or pain. 

Trephon had once had the detached dignity of the scientific class and had protested the loss of it to the limits of his ability, but Overlord took immense delight in dragging him through the greatest humiliations possible, using him as a powerless accessory to his owner’s pleasure. The warrior self-serviced countless times while Trephon was forced to play back the cruelty and horror that filled most of his HD. Each scrap of media was dragged through his unwilling consciousness on its way out, pulled from his memory over hours of casual browsing. Overlord would often switch on Trephon’s voice so he could hear his phone begging to be spared the experience and crying out in disgust. Over time, especially while drunk and brooding over his Megatron collection, Overlord would lick and kiss the images displayed on Trephon’s screen, murmuring things that he could not have wanted anyone to overhear. His secret thoughts and wishes built up in the cellphormer’s memory over the centuries - perhaps they could be blackmail if they could somehow get to the right people, but Trephon feared Overlord’s creative wrath and slowly came to value this form of exclusivity as well. No other mech could have heard Overlord pouring out his twisted spark so often. 

And his inclusion in his owner’s pleasure only increased as centuries became millennia - Overlord would rub the tip of his spike against the phone’s screen, cradling Trephon in his palm as he caught his overload in his hand. More rarely and secretly, Overlord turned up the phone’s vibration feature and commed it over and over again while pressing it deep inside his own valve; Trephon buzzed helplessly against his master’s nodes until Overlord clenched hard around him in bliss. Trephon thought that it was Megatron’s name that Overlord cried out most often at those times, but sometimes (perhaps wishful thinking?) he thought that he heard his own name as well. Afterward, Overlord would curl around his soiled phone, languidly licking and sucking his own fluids from its unresponsive curves; he often fell into recharge without bathing the cellphormer so that the scent of his lust sunk deep into Trephon’s workings, lingering inescapably for days. Overlord started to play with his phone’s internals while reassembling it after missions - instead of letting Trephon overload only from the charging cable, he would build charge by stroking exposed wiring and naked struts, caressing the phone’s tiny, helpless spark with the tip of his glossa until Trephon spent himself in a sudden flash and dropped into unconsciousness. 

More and more, he began to wonder if Overlord valued him as something greater than just a translator of mnemosurgical research. His user seemed to enjoy cleaning and repairing the cellphormer as a cure for his near-perpetual frustration and boredom. Simply by being nearby and broken, Trephon offered Overlord a way to calm and focus himself. His inclusion in Overlord’s pleasure seemed to become more personal over the centuries until Trephon wondered if Overlord was truly looking at him while stroking himself instead of at the image on his screen. (More wishful thinking?) 

Shortly before it all ended, Overlord had activated Trephon’s t-cog for the first time in millennia while the phone was buried deep in his valve, coming hard while Trephon flailed confusedly inside of him. He’d pulled the tiny mech free afterward, keeping Trephon’s voice shut off and looking anywhere but at the cellphormer as he licked off the worst of his own oils, drawing each small limb past soft lips and crushing dentae and onto the cradle of his glossa. Trephon flexed stiff fingers and ankles inside of the world-killer’s mouth as his owner sucked on him, bit by bit. Overlord washed his property in a basin of solvent before forcing Trephon back into altmode and going into recharge without a single word. 

Who knows what they could have become, given enough time together? Most of those who knew about Megatron’s murder of Trephon believed it to be motivated by the need to keep mnemosurgical knowledge away from an unstable killer. A few believed that it was actually to destroy Overlord’s vast and embarrassing collection of Megatron-focused masturbatory fuel. Perhaps it was actually an attempt to repair the strange, small, unexpected gap in the Phase Sixer’s murderous perfection, the one thing that prevented his final plunge into godlike monstrousness. Trephon has faded into the history of the Great War and nothing more can be known of him.


End file.
